


Cognitive Dissonance

by Hypewriter



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Angst, Cybertron is dead, Decepticon redemption arc challenge, Disillusionment, Gen, Paranoia, Post-Unicron, Redemption, Violence, War Veteran, but not like teenage angst, humanity rebuilding, just a lot of angst, more in the lines of I think my whole life has been a lie, soundwave being Randall from Recess, spec ops the line vibes, starscream being devious and scheming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:40:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23446384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hypewriter/pseuds/Hypewriter
Summary: A gladiator through and through, Brimstone is the Decepticons’ heaviest hitter. He’s a bot of few words, and is notorious for his swift and brutal fighting tactics. He’s slaughtered hundreds of Autobots over the millennia of this war, and has never once faltered in his belief of the great Decepticon cause of restoring Cybertron to its former glory. Until now. Two Earth years have passed since Unicron’s defeat, and something’s changed. Brimstone is struggling with feelings of disillusionment, and it’s only a matter of time before the other Decepticons catch on to his change in attitude.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 9





	1. Logic Error

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fan_FictionGirl1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fan_FictionGirl1/gifts).



> cog·ni·tive dis·so·nance  
> (noun)  
> The psychological phenomenon of holding two contradicting ideas or beliefs simultaneously, with equal conviction in both.

The deck of the Nemesis creaked under Brimstone’s peds as he strolled toward his usual perch. Night had fallen, and the moonlight glinted off the few patches of shine the ship had left. It wasn’t exactly old (or at least, not relative to Cybertronian time), but it had been through more battles than most of human history. As he approached the stern of the ship, Brimstone found himself staring at its many scratches and dents. Scars and blast marks covered the hull like the blemishes of a juvenile human… He shook himself out of his trance and grunted before moving forward. The fact that he’d thought of a human first as a comparison was part of the reason he’d come up here in the first place.

Brimstone finally found his spot just above the left rear thruster of the ship and sat down, his feet dangling precariously over the neutral-yet-still-blazing thruster. It wasn’t the most comfortable place to reflect, but its deafening engine drowned out his abnormally powerful audio receptors. Confident that he was finally alone, he disengaged his combat faceguard and set hands that could crush Volkswagens on knees the size of monster truck tires. He was a massive brute of a Decepticon, standing slightly taller than the great Megatron himself and with a build similar to the Insecticons. His heavy armor gave him the presence of a great fortress wall, even though his alternate form of choice was an experimental stealth bomber designed by humans. His comrades had enjoyed a good chuckle about that when he’d first chosen it. “Brimstone couldn’t stealth his way past a blind Quintesson!” Skywarp had joked. Those had been Skywarp’s last words. The sight of Brimstone crushing his severed head underfoot had silenced the rest.

That’s how it usually went with them. Starscream, Knockout, Airachnid, even Soundwave, they all had a level of fear and respect for him. He never said much, and he always got the job done. And none would dare report him to Megatron for being away from his post, no matter how long he was gone. So why was acting aloof, sneaking up to the top of the ship for his late-night thinking? 

He looked out at the clouds and finally forced himself to put it into words. “Because this... something’s wrong with all this,” he muttered to no one in particular, his naturally deep and somber voice flowing with the mechanical rattle of glass marbles being swirled around in an upside-down bell. He just needed the closure of saying it, and the roar of Cybertronian engineering below him made sure that not even that smug little snitch Soundwave would be able to hear him. _So there it is_ , he thought to himself. _Something is wrong. Be damned if I know what, though. Okay, let’s start with simple observations._ _What’s different?_ He needed only to lower his optic visor and observe the small town 5 miles below and 50 miles southwest of his position to answer. 

Streets had been repaved and homes had been rebuilt in the two years since Unicron’s defeat, but the damage to the mountainous landscapes surrounding the town were irreparable. Environmental groups had lobbied for federal funding to be used to restore the beautiful canyons and lakes of the Midwest; upon a full assessment of the damage, unfortunately, it was determined that there wasn’t much that could be done to replace a flattened mountain or seal giant fissures in the Earth that were flowing with rivers of liquid Energon. The governments of Earth had done what they could to cover up the true nature of the events, as they should have. But there was nothing you could do to hide the gargantuan finger sticking out of a fissure in rural Russia, or the dead drones littering Australia. Enough humans knew that their whole planet was actually a very ancient, very dead titan; life on Earth had changed forever.

Yet, it was the restoration efforts themselves that had perplexed Brimstone. He contemplated the implications as he watched a single female human visit a memorial erected less than a year ago. _How easy it would have been for them to break down as a species..._ he thought. _They could've plunged into anarchy, burning temples and destroying institutions as the seeds of nihilism burrowed their way into the public consciousness. Or at the very least, the smart ones could’ve abandoned ship, given moon colonization a try like we did. But they didn’t. They just... hmm._

He struggled to think of the right term before it hit him like a blow from the dead titan himself. _They just moved on... For all they know, the planet could suddenly wake up cranky again and end them all with a thought. But that doesn’t matter. They rebuild and recover because they know better than to sit and lick their wounds forever._

The old Decepticon watched the female leave and sighed. He didn’t need to; being a robot, he had no respiratory system for breathing, let alone sighing. Yet there was something about the sound he’d heard millions of humans make as he watched them over the years that just felt... cathartic. For the first time in his multiple millennia of existence, he felt conflicted. Of course it was his duty as a patriotic Cybertronian to restore the planet to its former glory, no matter the cost. If that meant wiping out an inferior species, too bad. It was for the greater good. But said inferior species had just accomplished what Decepticons everywhere had been fighting to accomplish for thousands of years: they had restored their planet to its former glory. Well, not completely, but they were certainly fast-tracking it compared to Megatron’s efforts. But then again, Earth was a much smaller planet. Ants rebuilding a nest after a child stomped on it didn’t suddenly make them intelligent lifeforms. 

Brimstone suddenly realized he’d thought of yet another metaphor centering around Earth life to illustrate his thoughts. Frustrated and disgusted with himself, he took it out on the one thing in his sights at the moment. He drew his long-range railgun, took aim, and fired in a matter of seconds. A solid Cybertronian steel projectile the size of a twin mattress rocketed toward the town at Mach 5 for three agonizing seconds before finally striking the memorial statue. It was obliterated immediately, along with the parking garage next to the small park it resided in. Brimstone couldn’t hear the screams over the _Nemesis’s_ engines, but he knew they were there. But instead of satisfaction, he felt something inexplicable wash over him; it was as if all the Energon in his body had dissolved into slag, and the rifle he’d carried for years suddenly felt heavier than the ship upon which he stood. Needless to say, he was not okay with this new sensation, and was on his way to a full nervous breakdown when his comm screamed to life. 

**“BRIMSTONE!!!”** There was no drowning out the unmistakable voice of Megatron, and it snapped him back to the present and returned the feeling to his legs. **“YOU’RE NOT AT YOUR POST AND SOUNDWAVE CLAIMS TO HAVE DETECTED A RAILGUN DISCHARGE!!! EXPLAIN YOURSELF!!!”** ****

The shaken bot engaged his faceguard before answering in his usual baritone rattle, “Target practice, sir.”

**“AT THIS TIME OF NIGHT, MERE KILOMETERS AWAY FROM HUMAN MILITARY STATIONS???”**

“I didn’t think—”

**“THINK??? SINCE WHEN HAVE I EVER—”** the Decepticon leader growled, and Brimstone heard a metal face hit an open metal palm. **“Oh, to blazes with this. I don’t have the time nor the patience to explain the importance of nuance and discretion to a blunt tool! Just get back to your post and STAY THERE!!!”**

Brimstone nodded calmly before remembering Megatron couldn’t see him, so he simply replied “Yes, sir.” The comm went silent, and the towering gladiator turned to walk back to the ship’s topside hatch. As he walked, he tried not to think too much about what he’d just done. More importantly, he tried to avoid thinking about _why_ he didn’t want to think about what he’d just done. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part of a writing challenge I gave to Fan_FictionGirl1 to write a redemption arc for an original Decepticon character. This chapter’s kind of slow, I know, but I promise it’ll ramp up soon enough. Hope you guys like it, especially you, Fan_FictionGirl1!


	2. The Spider, the Viper, and the Peacock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief scene of female-on-male sexual harassment at the beginning. Not explicit at all, but it’s there. You can skip the first few paragraphs if you’d rather not see that, I won’t judge you!

Heavy pedsteps echoed down the corridors of the _Nemesis_ as Brimstone made his way back to his post in the armory. Just a few more minutes and he would be back to cleaning guns and sharpening blades in peace. Or, better yet, he could simply call it a night and go to stasis, look back on tonight's events with a fresh perspective in the morning. It wasn't like they could do anything to stop him, after all. He allowed a fraction of a smile to twitch under his faceguard. Killing him wasn't an option, Megatron relied upon him too heavily. Being sent to the dungeons was just as impractical for the same reasons. The only thing Megatron could do about him slacking off was to simply chew him out, and that had already happened tonight.

"Hey there, sharpshooter," a sultry voice hissed at him from an intersecting hallway. Brimstone closed his optics and clenched his massive fists. Great. Perfect. Just what he needed. _Breeze past her_ , he thought. _She's half your size and a tenth your mass. It doesn't need to happen again._ He nodded to himself and briskly passed the hallway without so much as a glance over his shoulder.

She wasn't having that. “I **_said_**...” Before Brimstone could react, four limbs had grabbed his shoulders and twirled him about to slam his back to the wall. “...hey there, big bot.” Magenta optics looked up to connect with his, and Brimstone could see the oceans of madness behind them. Only two things made her optics this wide and hungry: new prisoners to interrogate, and him. She held him in place, silently glaring into his optics with sickening relish as she waited for him to react. 

He wasn’t going to give an inch this time. “Airachnid,” he finally replied, his voice as monotone and disinterested as possible. 

A guttural clicking sound emanated from her, a sort of mock disappointment. “Ohhhh, is that any way to greet an old friend? I hardly see you around anymore; any time I stop by the armory, you’re conveniently somewhere else! Why, if I didn’t know any better, I’d even go so far as to suspect you’re...” her voice dropped a few octaves as one of her legs crept up his torso to brush the tip against his chin, “... **avoiding** **me!** ”

“I don't need to avoid anyone,” he growled. With speed that should have been impossible for his size, he snatched the leg and held the decidedly fragile tip threateningly. “You know how any kind of fight would end.”

For the first time in the few years he’d known her, she looked taken aback. That felt good. It didn’t last, and she quickly regained that smug air of sadistic sensuality. “I don’t know about fights, per se, but I do believe I won by a landslides the last time we... rolled around...”

It isn’t possible for transformers to blush, but Brimstone’s rising internal temperature and small droplets of coolant leaking beneath his face guard were a close equivalent. “That. Was. Once. To shut you up. Whatever you think this is, I’m done.”

“Mmmm, so back to the hard-to-get game, eh?” Her extra legs slowly scaled the wall behind him to bring her up face-to-face with him. “Good! I love a challenge, the slow burn of weeks and months spent teasing and playing with you, slowly scraping away at that wall of resistance until you’re just _begging_ me to finally give you som **ARGH** —” 

She was interrupted by a hand the size of a Volkswagen grabbing her head and slowly tightening its grip. Her legs flailed around, jabbing and stabbing at anything they could, but his armor was too strong, and they found no purchase. “I’m not some toy to be batted around for a cheap thrill, witch.” His voice never raised a single decibel, and his processing rate slowed back to normal as he watched her struggle helplessly. “We may wear matching insignias, but we are not friends. We are not even acquaintances. And we most _certainly_ are not lovers. I doubt you’re even capable of such a thing.” He walked away from the wall and brought her a bit closer to really nail home the final message: “If you so much as tap my arm again, I swear to you I will pluck every last limb from your wretched chassis and roll the stump that remains into a tar pit, understood?!” Without waiting for a response, he reared his hand back and threw her with all his might. Ear-splitting sounds of scrapings metal and hissing grunts of pain echoed down the corridor until she skidded to a halt. As he turned to continue his way toward his workshop, his sensitive receptors heard her mutter “Since when do you speak in complete sentences?”

* * *

Upon entering the armory, two more comrades greeted him with enough AWOL jokes to make him wish he was deaf. Knock Out had come for repairs to his plasma trident, but Starscream was simply there to antagonize the armorer. “What, back inside so soon?” The smug jet jeered. “I just want you to know that there’s no need for all this sneaking about, old friend! If you want to be taken for a walk, you need only ask!” The two shared a hearty laugh as Brimstone stared blankly, waiting for the second in command to leave. 

“Oh come now, Starscream!” Knock Out needed to have the last word. “We both know our heavyweight friend was simply scanning the horizon for any approaching threat. In fact, I hear he singlehandedly stopped a deadly assault of marble statues!” Again, they both laughed like the joke was much funnier than it was. 

Brimstone took a single territorial step toward Starscream, who immediately backed down like the coward he was. "Well, I can see you've got more pressing matters at hand," the seeker chuckled nervously as he made his way out the door. "I'll just, eh... see myself out!" Before the door shut behind him, he turned his head to get one last jab in: "Never would have guessed you were such a snob for architecture!"

The snake gone, Brimstone turned his attention back to the team's head physician. Knock Out was different from the other Decepticons in the sense that Brimstone almost liked him. Yes, he was arrogant, vain, and a preener in every sense of the word, but he had an odd charm about him that simply made him impossible for Brimstone to hate. In Earth terms, he was an ass, but an endearing one. After a few seconds of silence, he cocked his head slightly to the left, as if to say _Well?_ Knock Out seemed to suddenly recall why he was there. "Oh! Right, my trident," he sputtered as he hastily presented the warped weapon. "Something's knocked loose, I believe. There's definitely a component rattling around in there, and it's just not sparking like it should when I hit the sparring drones."

The armorer gave the weapon a once-over look in his hands. "Power supply's damaged," he uttered in his mechanical rattle. "Overcharged too. Should consider yourself lucky it hasn't had a meltdown in your hands yet."

"Hmm. Anything else?"

Brimstone glanced up at him, but didn't show his irritation. "Heat exchangers need replacing, but not much else that I can see."

The hot rod doctor had dropped his smug grin and was now studying Brimstone with a look that almost seemed concerned. "You're sure there's nothing else?"

The larger bot finally caught on to what was happening. "You know exactly what's wrong with this thing, don't you?"

Knock Out took the spear back and began disassembling it at the workbench as he addressed Brimstone. "In the past, I've known you to meticulously strip and dismantle guns for something as simple as a clogged barrel," he spoke matter-of-factly. "Yes, I sabotaged it myself, damaging two obvious components and two subtle components. Past Brimstone would've told me to come back in an hour or even in the morning, but tonight, you barely looked at it for thirty seconds before giving your prognosis. You got one of each, old friend, and the worst part is you didn't even notice the obviously bent prongs!" With all the pieces laid neatly on the bench, he turned back around to face the humiliated armorer. "Something's going on with you, big guy, and it's going to start affecting us all if you don't sort it out."

Brimstone was angry, furious even, that he'd been called out so boldly. Unfortunately, the doc was right; and if he could tell, it was only a matter of time before the other idiots picked up on it as well. Finally, he spoke, "Fine, you got me."

Knock Out looked both thrilled that he'd gotten the confession, yet irritated that he hadn't gotten more. "Then by all means, talk to me! I know you carry yourself like a dumb box of bricks, but I have a hunch that you're a lot smarter than you let on. And it's very smart, indeed, letting the others consistently underestimate you. But you know me, big guy! Come on, can you think of anyone more trustworthy than your physician? I'm more than happy to listen!"

_Listen..._ the word rang in Brimstone's head. _Happy to listen... Listening... Soundwave!!!_ Upon remembering the omnipresent eyes and ears of the spy master, Brimstone gave a quick, subtle shake of his head. "I'll have your trident fixed in the morning," he said dryly as he shooed Knock Out toward the door, ignoring his protests. "I'll even add a few upgrades to the power supply and insulators for more output." He hesitated for a mere second as he pressed the switch on the door, then muttered to the hot rod as silently and quickly as he could manage, "Things made more sense on Cybertron."

Before Knock Out could even react to those words, he was back in the corridor with the armory shut and locked behind him. He didn't like how strangely his comrade was acting, and he _certainly_ didn't like the implications of the brute's last words to him. After a few minutes of careful consideration, he decided not to report anything about their exchange, and headed back to his quarters.


	3. To Burn a Space Bridge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback to 18 months in the past, where a certain human is undergoing counseling for his relationship problems. Exciting, isn't it?

Dr. Cecilia Connelly shifted in her seat, trying to hide her discomfort from her client on the other couch as he stared at her knees. She knew he wasn’t _actually_ staring at her, which was why she hadn’t said anything; this was just his thinking face, and he was about as focused on her as he was on the muted tv behind him. Still, it was unsettling how he could just sit there for upwards of seven minutes without even blinking. She wanted to give him all the time he needed, but they were already sixteen minutes into their hour-long session and things were going nowhere. She finally cleared her throat and addressed him, “Jack? Still with me here?”

Jack Darby snapped out of it and, upon realizing where his vacant gaze had fallen, blushed vibrantly as he sputtered out apologies. “Oh! Oh man I’m sorry Celia I didn’t mean to I was just uhhh... I mean I wasn’t looking AT yo—”

“Jack, you’re fine,” she cut him off. She couldn’t help but smile at his modesty, and that seemed to calm him down a bit. “Where do you go when you trail off like that?”

“I... I dunno, every now and then I just try to make sense of everything that’s happened.”

“As far as what? In the grand scheme of things? Because that makes perfect sense, buddy... Hell, I could get lost thinking about how our planet nearly killed us all by waking up. But there’s been so many good things to come out of this, too!”

His face scrunched up in disbelief. “What? Wait, no, I wasn’t talking about the Unicron Incident. I meant... no, nevermind.”

She raised her eyebrows at the hint of some headway. “Ohhhhh... it’s about the girl?”

He shot a look at her, but softened immediately. The eighteen-year-old had initially come to her a little over a year ago, seeking professional help as he grappled with the horrors of the Unicron Incident nearly a year ago. This was not in itself unusual; half her clients these days were suffering from mass PTSD from the realization that aliens existed and had nearly wiped out humanity. What struck her about Jack was that his sessions had quickly shifted focus from that to his ongoing relationship with a mysterious girl he called "Arlene." She knew it had to be a fake name from how he occasionally hesitated before saying it. From what she could gather, the story of “Arlene” and Jack was quite the modern retelling of Romeo and Juliet, minus the double suicide. Things between the two had seemed pretty standard at first; Jack had spoken with typical adolescent giddiness about how he thought a girl liked him, and how she was the most beautiful being he’s ever seen, unlike any other, nothing new. If anything, it was endearing to see a boy fawn over a girl he described as tall, powerful, and “infinitely smarter” than him. For some reason, though, he never wanted to admit his feelings to her. After months of assuring him that it couldn’t hurt anything to try, Jack finally vowed to come clean with “Arlene.”  
  
He never got the chance. Shortly after that session, according to Jack, there had been an incident involving Arlene and her circle of friends that left his best friend paralyzed from the waist down. He had never fully explained what had happened to Raf, but it had obviously been traumatizing enough to wipe away whatever he had felt toward “Arlene.” At least, that’s what Jack wanted Celia to believe. And yet, their conversations had a funny habit of shifting over to her...

Jack finally looked back up at her and nodded. “Yes. It’s Arlene. I can’t be sure, but I think she’s following me.”

“Oh?” This was new. Celia’s eyebrows jumped up in spite of herself before she replied, “Are you sure about this?”

“Yeah... she’s kinda hard to miss, even if it’s just out of the corner of my eye.”

“Have you contacted authorities?” the good doctor asked, already knowing the answer.   
“No... I don’t feel threatened by her, I just need her to go away.”

“Then you know what you have to do, right?”

The young man looked at her with the same distant glare that had come to unnerve her. “Yeah. I gotta confront her, don’t I?”

“It’s the only way to put it behind you, yes,” she stood up as the minute hand on the clock inched closer to the end of their conversation. As he stood with her, she smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder. “After that, we can work on your sleeping pattern, and don’t lie to me saying you’re getting enough every night! Your eyes look like a medic in the trenches!”

* * *

Jack was walking to his car when he saw it again, just out of the corner of his eye in an alley: the dull reflection of the dusk sunlight off the chassis of a slick motorcycle. With a heavy, exasperated sigh, he gathered himself and walked toward the alley. Sure enough, there she was, in her vehicle mode and propped on her kickstand like she’d been there all night. He considered his former friend for a second, then gently kicked her front tire. “C’mon, Arcee, you’re caught. Now’s not the time to be coy.”   
  
With what sounded like a sigh, the bike fractured itself a hundred times before reorganizing into the form of a lean, feminine alien robot. “Um... hey there, Jack...” she muttered with a nervous twitch of a smile. 

Jack did not smile back. “What are you doing here?” he asked flatly.

She tried changing the subject. “Did you really have a crush on me?” The way she asked, almost hopeful-sounding, made his stomach churn. 

“So you’ve been listening to my therapy sessions. Guess that answers my question.” 

“Ok, yes. I have. Only because I want to understand what happe—”

“What happened was Raf nearly died!” He interrupted. “Raf’s in a wheelchair with 3/4 of his intestines and eating liquid meals like a withering nursing home patient before he’s even done with his junior year!”

Now she was mad. “Jack, you know how unfair it is to blame us for wha—”

“I know! I know. You didn’t pull the trigger. But you let us come. Optimus didn’t even object to us tagging along. And all you could do was frantically tell me a rehearsed story to tell his family.”

A long silence twisted the knife in both of them before Jack finally spoke again. “Look... yeah. I did have feelings for you. Matter of fact, I still do. You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met, and there is absolutely nothing biologically compatible about us.”

The truth was finally on the table. Arcee’s advanced, cyber-organic computer mind struggled to think of what to say before finally offering “You’re the first human I ever trusted completely, Jack... I think that constitutes well enough as lo... as a bond.”

“Don’t,” he replied. “Arcee, I forgive you for what happened, and I still care about you, but I need you to stay out of my life now. It’s the only way either of us can move on.”   
Without waiting for a response, he turned around and walked back to his car, leaving the soldier who’d survived millennia of war alone to question why she felt so broken. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look, it's the idiot who can't update on a decent schedule! I meant to have this thing done back in April, but things got harder at work and college. Oh well, hope there's still people out there willing to read this thing!


End file.
